


Prairie Fire

by carriecmoney



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drinking, Drinking-Related Symptoms, F/F, Hockey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's been checking this one guy out across the bar all night. He didn't expect to get checked /into/ the bar in return. Birthday oneshot about barely-legal drinking, hockey, and Tim's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prairie Fire

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: Would you believe me if I said it was pure coincidence that I wrote something about Jean's birthday in time to post it on Jean's birthday? Because it's true. Also, my Marco has completed his transformation into an alternate color palette version of APH Canada. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

When you’re an American teenager within a three hour drive of the Canadian border, the most exciting birthday isn’t your twenty-first, but your nineteenth. Most newly christened nineteen year olds took the trek to the frozen mecca of the Great White North to enjoy their first legal night on the town, no matter the weather or the family matters.

Jean wasn’t planning on it.

It was the day before his Canadian legality, and Jean was stuck on the bench during his weekly intramural hockey game. After a decade of this treatment, he didn’t take it personally that he was a skinny little shit, but it still kinda blew watching everyone else jump in and out of the rink while he got to sit on the sidelines and watch as they got their asses handed to them.

One of the girls on the team slapped out and crashed on the bench next to him. “So, you got any plans this weekend, kid?”

Jean shrugged. “Probably just staying in and studying.” He stuck a finger under his helmet to scratch at his sweaty scalp. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, so Mom’ll wanna do something, but-”

“Holy shit, it’s your _birthday_?” She punched his shoulder. “How old you gonna be, kid?”

Two fingers were under his unstrapped helmet now. “Nineteen.”

“No _shit_?” She laughed and yelled at another of the girls skating by. “Hey, Annie! The kid here’s turning nineteen tomorrow!”

“Really?” one of the guys shouted from down the bench. She sneered at him.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, _bitch_ , I was talkin’ to Annie.”

He rolled his eyes and leant forward to grin at Jean around her. “You heading up to Sault for it?”

“Mind your own damn business,” she snapped, yanking Jean back to focus on her. “We’re going to Canada this weekend whether you want to or not.”

He winced. “Ymir, please, don’t.”

“It’s for your own good, half-pint. You’ll get wasted, Annie and Miks and Krista’ll come, we’ll have fun, we’ll flirt with drunk girls, crash in some cheap hotel, you’ll puke in the morning and we’ll be home by the time hockey starts. Deal?”

Jean frowned. “There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?”

Ymir grinned, a wolf-smile. “Not a chance, shortstop.”

* * *

And that was how Jean found himself crammed in the backseat of Mikasa’s sedan with Ymir and her girlfriend Krista on Friday night, Annie in the passenger seat, Avril Lavigne and Adam Levine blaring for the entire two and a half hour drive from campus to the nearest border crossing. Their school was on the opposite end of the Upper Peninsula from the dual city of Sault Sainte Marie through the most boring country in the lower forty-eight. Jean spent most of it asleep against the window while the girls gossiped and sang along to Annie’s music. When they got off the highway and started to slow down, he blinked awake in time for the border crossing. There was a fun mess with Mikasa’s expired American passport there, but she pulled her Canadian one out of the glove box at the last minute and they sailed on over the bridge into a glorious new land.

“You know, I always expect to go through a cloud of maple leaves when I come over here,” Jean yawned, scrubbing at his face. Krista the full Canadian laughed.

“That’s only in the fall, sorry.”

Ymir had booked a room on the end of the downtown row – cheap, as promised. They checked in before they hit the street and found a single room with two double beds. Welp, he was sleeping in the bathtub. Ymir and Krista tried to tell him he could split with them, since they only took up one person’s space, but he’d rather gouge out his own eyes with a spoon, thanks. He dumped his duffel bag in the desk chair and checked his hair one last time before he got dragged out by two blonde girls a head shorter than him, the other two guarding his rear escape.

There was some ratty hole-in-the-wall dive that every one of the girls had sworn in their nineteenth at on the downtown strip of what passed as a city. Ymir swore by their bathrooms as the best to be sick in, which was exactly what Jean was looking for in an opening experience to legal alcohol, but they didn’t let him fight it as they shoved him in half an hour after leaving the hotel. The booth he got stuck to had cracked leather seats and stains on the table, but Mikasa and Annie flanked him before he could move.

“Hey, you! Get us a round of Jack, would ya?” Ymir yelled at a passing waiter. The waiter rolled his eyes and waved over the girl who was actually supposed to be taking their order. Ymir shifted her attention with all the grace of a stickshift at a red light. “Oh, and the birthday boy here needs a Prairie Fire!”

The waitress smiled, uncapping her pen with her teeth. “IDs, please?”

Annie made a show of presenting Jean’s driver’s license while he tried to disappear under the table. The waitress just laughed and congratulated him before flitting off, brown ponytail flapping. Ymir cackled; Jean kicked her shin.

“Shut the hell up.” She kicked him back and stuck out her tongue.

“ _Children_.” Krista slapped her girlfriend on the back of the head. “Behave.”

“Hey!” Ymir squeezed Krista hard against her side. “I thought you were supposed to _like_ me.”

“Maybe in your big head.” Krista shoved her hand in Ymir’s face when she swooped in for a kiss. She smiled at Jean across the table as she held Ymir at arm’s length. “So, you get anything fun for your birthday, kid?”

Jean tugged on his ear. “Nah, I mean, not really, it’s not really a big deal-”

“Oh no.” Mikasa covered her smile with a hand. “What did your mom _do_?”

“Nothing!”

“We’ll find out at some point,” Annie said, patting his arm. “Go ahead and tell us to save yourself a lot of heartache.”

The waitress came back then with a tray of shots and a pitcher of water, distracting the girls from Jean with alcohol. He sighed and slumped in his seat – until he saw the red thing she dropped in front of him, followed by a stack of plastic cups. “The hell?” he said, rearing back. The waitress winked.

“It’s a Prairie Fire, sweetheart. Tabasco and tequila.” She took the top cup off the stack and poured him some water. “I’d go ahead and get it over with.”

Jean glared at Ymir. “I hate you.” The girls laughed, including the waitress. He shook himself out and picked up the shot glass, smelled it – recoiled. Another round of laughter. “God, fuck _all_ of you.” He tossed it back before he could think about it and nearly coughed it up again, fuck, he could feel the burn inside his ears. “What the _fuck_?”

The waitress snorted as she poured the last water and Jean gulped his. “My name’s Sasha. Just yell if you need me, kay?”

Annie clapped him on the back. “Welcome to the real world, kid.”

* * *

Five shots, a basket of poutine, the story about his mom’s terrible birthday present of condoms and a cake pan, and two glasses of water later, Jean’s tongue felt fuzzy and his fingers were numb, insensitive to whatever he touched. Which, right then, was Mikasa’s hair.

“Y’know, y’have, like, the best hair ever, have I told you that?”

“A few times now.” She pressed a cup in his hands. “Here, kid, drink this.”

“Wh’t’sit?” He gulped at it anyway. “S’rsly, _seriously_ , you’re super pretty and smart and talented and I love you a lot, okay? Do you know that?”

“Yes, darling. Drink all of that for me, okay?”

“Miks, you’re spoiling the fun!” Something nudged Jean’s foot, and he blinked up at Ymir’s unfocused face. “C’mon, get this kid another drink, Sasha!” she yelled at the waitress. Jean blinked again, world expanding beyond the booth and Mikasa’s hair to take in the bar. Business had picked up since he’d last checked – mostly broke kids and broker hipsters. He rubbed at his head (which made his vision worse) and squinted at the crowded bar and – _holy fuck_. “What’s that, small fry?” Ymir yelled – oh, it was loud in here. And he’d said that outside of his mind. He shook his head (the world shook with it) as Sasha floated up with another plastic cup and plopped it in front of him, bright blue with a dollop of whipped cream around the straw.

“It’s a birthday cake thing,” she said with a laugh. “On the house. Go on, kid, you’ll like it.” He nodded and sipped at it, taste buds shot, as he stared at the shiny new thing across the bar – the best ass he’d seen outside of yoga pants. And that was with his already shitty eyesight impaired twice over by alcohol. What kind of choirs would be singing if he was actually close?

He followed the ass up to a denim jacket with an angry horse embroidered on the back to a hockey flow as sick as he was gonna be in the morning. God _bless_ Canada.

Jean didn’t know how long he was hypnotized by that back against the bar, nursing the birthday cake… thing, letting the girls scream over him about whatever they were talking about. But it was a damn while. He was chomping on ice when Annie announced that she had to pee and slid out of the seat to his right, freeing up his exit as she stepped around the ass and its crew to the bathrooms. He should go to the ass. Talk to the ass. Maybe, in some alternate world where he had game, touch the ass. He inched out of the seat, but before he could go far, Mikasa caught the hood of his sweatshirt.

“And just _where_ do you think you’re going?”

“I gotta talk to it.”

“Talk to what?”

He dug his nails into his palms to wake himself up. “Him. I gotta talk to him.” Mikasa yanked him back by his hood so he fell against her. She pressed her cheek to his and followed his gaze. Maybe she was drunker than she pretended to be.

“Good eye, kid.” She sat him up straight. “You need a hand?”

“No. No, you’re too pretty.” He scooted back to the edge of the seat and stood – clutched the table before he spun around. “Yes.”

A tinkling laugh from his other side, and Krista extracted herself from Ymir’s chokehold to prop against him. “I’ll go with ya, I’m a great wingman-woman-thing.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and laughed into his chest. He ruffled her hair and let her lead their stumbling way through the scattered tables to the back end of the bar, where the ass awaited him.

Annie pushed through the bathroom line when they got about halfway through the crowd. She froze right behind Jean’s target and whipped hard, snapping something he couldn’t hear. Shit.

One of the ass’s crew turned at her snap, smile on his face when he flipped his hair out of his green eyes, mouthing off at her. Shit. “This isn’t good,” he mumbled, but Krista didn’t hear over the bar’s noise.

Annie crossed her arms when they got close enough to hear. “So men’s games are regular games, then.” _Oh shit shit shit_

The idiot shrugged, the other guys with him looking back from the bar at what was about to be a situation. “Sure, I mean, they don’t gotta make special rules for them, yeah? ‘Sides, girls can’t keep us with us on the ice.” Krista’s arm squeezed too tight around Jean, and he remembered exactly how competitive her higher-level intramural team got.

“Oh really.” Annie lifted her chin to stare down her cleaver nose at him. “Wanna bet?”

The mountain of a blond guy next to the idiot laughed. “Hun, you wouldn’t last two seconds in the rink with us.” He put a hand up. “There’s just some things you can’t compete in based on what you’ve got.”

The idiot grinned and shoved Annie’s shoulder, not noticing how she barely moved. Krista let go of Jean to stand guard at her side. “Look, I’m not saying girls can’t play hockey on their own, but it’s a contact sport, and-”

Annie reared back and punched him in the nose.

The whole group – shit, was it a team? – jumped to their feet if they weren’t on them already. Annie shook out her hand and brushed off her knuckles as the idiot, who’d been caught by one of the crew, got back to his feet, fingers at his nose. He shoved his cartilage back into place with a gasp that rang in the sliced volume of the bar.

“Not bad, little girl.” He wiped off a blood trail and grinned. “That all you got?”

The ass stepped in – holy crackers, his face matched his ass in perfection. Jean’s mouth fell open a little. “Man, come on, back off.” Chivalrous. Jean wished he had the brainpower to tell him it wasn’t going to work.

Mikasa and Ymir materialized behind Annie and Krista, Ymir’s hands on Krista’s shoulders. Krista smirked. “Hey girls!” she called to the bar in a voice that Jean had heard in the back row of a crowded arena before. “These bitches think we can’t play hockey!”

Half the women (and a few of the dudes) in the room stood up. Jean stumbled back. The blond mountain frowned. “Hey now, that’s not-”

Krista roundhouse-kicked him in the abdomen, and the bar went wild.

Jean found himself stuck against the bar by bodies, bent over and trying not to get cut in half by it. Sasha the waitress was kicked back on the other side, chatting to one of the bartenders. He sputtered.

“Aren’t you guys gonna _stop_ this?” he yelled. Sasha and the bartender looked around and shrugged.

“It’s Friday night, kid. Happens all the time.” She hopped on her toes to look around. “Just surprised it didn’t start sooner.”

His brain blanked. “What kind of place _is_ Canada?”

The bartender sighed. “I guess we better call Erwin if they don’t settle down in five, eh?”

Sasha shrugged. “Give ‘em ten. They said girls can’t play hockey.” The bartender laughed as Sasha jumped up to sit on the counter, kicking her heels against the fridge underneath.

Jean got yanked back by his hood then and shoved back into the fray. He used all of his second-string skills to avoid the elbows and knees flung his way, but he still got tossed around too much for his drunk system to take. The next time someone snatched at his jacket, he rammed his elbow back as hard as he could into their gut as he spun to face them, growling. Shit, it was perfect-ass guy, holy God. And he was _pissed_.

Jean held his hands up and backed away – bumped into the bar. “Listen, seriously, I don’t want any trouble, it was all their fault, honest-”

Hot-ass guy pinned him against the bar like the boards, side slammed against Jean’s front. Jean arched back – shit, he could feel his breath, shit. Hot ass’s eyes were some light honey brown color, and they pinned him down as good as his hip.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” His hand circled Jean’s wrist where he was clutching the bar with all his drunk strength. “Buy a guy a drink first before you undress him, eh?”

Jean licked his lips. “I was going for that when this shit happened.”

“Okay then.” Hot-ass guy flicked his neck-length hair out of his eyes. “I’m Marco.”

Jean’s heart was gonna _stop_ , swear to God. “I’m Jean. Like Béliveau.” Marco tilted his head, the storm of the fight crashing around them, but all of Jean’s existence was focused on that little smile.

“But you’re not from Quebec, right?”

Jean shook his head. “I’m from Michigan.” Marco laughed, and there were the angels Jean had been imagining earlier. Too bad his stomach didn’t agree. “So, this is hot’n everything, but I’m gonna spoil the moment if we don’t get outside or somethin’.” Marco jerked back, still holding his wrist.

“Oh God, yeah, sure.” Marco shoved some girl aside with one arm while he dragged Jean on with the other, clearing a way to the door. The bitter sour rose in Jean’s throat with each step, head swimming and the brawlers dipping in and out of his awareness. He had to close his eyes against the nausea and trust this hot-ass stranger – but it was the most secure he’d felt all night.

Marco banged open the door to the bar just as Jean slapped a hand to his mouth. Marco shoved him in the direction of a street trashcan, metal rim punching Jean in the gut and kicking it all up. He puked up red-stained vomit, Marco leaning at his side and brushing his hair back.

Jean was trembling when he finished, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, hands shaking with their grip on the edge of the trashcan. Marco rubbed his back.

“Give it a second and you’ll feel better, eh?” Jean nodded, eyes closed, the breeze from the river cooling his skin. When he gave a last sigh, his knuckles fading from white to red, Marco withdrew his hand. “There’s a Tim’s across the street, you know.”

Jean grinned, breathing a laugh. “Dude, I’ve known you _max_ two minutes and you’re already the most Canadian person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

Marco smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets, checking traffic before jaywalking across the empty street and away from the chaos of the bar. Jean wiped at his mouth again and rushed to follow.

The Tim Horton’s was almost empty when they entered, only the two employees and a corner gaggle of tipsy girls disrupting Jean’s oncoming headache. The trembling had satiated; now he was just tipsy instead of skunk-drunk. And he felt like a pile of shit stuffed into a human-shaped sack, but whatever.

Jean slumped against the pastry display, arms crossed and frowning at the linoleum. Marco glanced over in the middle of ordering his small regular and smiled, one corner higher than the other. “And get this guy a water, yeah?”

The cashier nodded with a midnight smile and took Marco’s five bucks, which wasn’t green, and Jean scrubbed at his face. _You’re not in Michigan anymore, farm boy._

The nice cashier gave Jean a large water to nurse, and the nice hot-ass guy guided him to the bar along the window to sit at and watch the fight rage on from a distance. How could such nice people adore such a violent sport?

Jean stabbed a straw in his water while Marco sipped his coffee and smiled at him, tucking his hair behind his ear. “So, what brings you over here, American?”

Jean chomped on his straw. “Those bitches that started all this ruckus dragged me here.” Marco snorted. “It’s my nineteenth.”

“No kidding, eh?” Marco tipped his coffee at him in a toast. “Happy birthday, then.”

“Well, it was Tuesday, really, but close enough.” Jean chewed on his straw more. “What about you?”

“We just cleaned out the local OHL team in the playoffs.” Marco jerked his chin out the window. “Those idiots are the Barrie Colts.”

Jean snorted. “That explains the horse.” He tugged on the shoulder of Marco’s jacket. “Thought it was just the universe conspiring to make my life hell.”

Marco tilted his head, honey eyes curious. “Now why would that be?”

Jean turned his face away, scratching at the line of his undercut. “Long story.”

Marco laughed his angelic-chorus laugh. “Okay, if you say so, Jean.” A shiver shot up Jean’s spine. That pronunciation, _God_ in heaven. Marco nudged his knee against Jean’s under the bar. “You know, depending on the mood of the cops and how much our friends broke in there, we could be spending a good amount of tonight together.”

Jean grinned around his straw. “This isn’t the first time they’ve pulled this stunt, huh?”

Marco grinned – he had a gap in his gum behind his right canine. “Oh, not by a long shot.” He smiled around his coffee cup. “First time it’s been started _by_ a girl, though. Usually it’s just because of one.”

Jean laughed, forehead resting on the cool edge of his water cup. “Yeah, my girls tend to tip the norm a little.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “ _Your_ girls?”

Jean smiled at the bar-ledge-thing. “Well, I think it’s more like they adopted me, but it’s easiest.” He shrugged, tracing the condensation on his cup. “They’re all a little bit older than me, so I’m the baby, but they’re fun, when they’re not starting fights with pro hockey players twice their size.” Marco laughed, less angelic and more childlike. Jean bit his lip, skin alight.

“That short one seemed like a ball of fire,” Marco said, leaning in a hair closer. Jean’s teeth bit harder on his lip, leaning in, too.

“Which one?” Marco’s honey eyes crinkled, amber and orange flecks picked out in them. Jean was trembling again. “Wanna go find an alley to make out in?” he breathed, Marco’s collar fluttering.

Marco’s lopsided smile deepened. “Once you finish that water.”

Jean blinked, hands scrabbling for his water. Marco _giggled, what the fuck,_ and dropped his hand to Jean’s thigh, fingers catching in a rip in his jeans before it completed its fall to his side. Jean snorted, nostrils flaring, and chugged his water as fast as his straw would let him while Marco hummed and looked out the window.

“Oh look. Here comes the cavalry.” Jean glanced out – the cop car didn’t even have its lights flashing as it parked in front of the bar and two big blond officers got out, chatting as they headed in. “Do you want to make sure your girls aren’t international criminals?”

“ _Fuck_ no, I wanna make out in an alley.” Marco lowered his head to give Jean a look through his falling hair. “ _God_ , you have nice hair.”

Marco brushed said hair out of his eyes, a dark blush spreading on his temples. “Well, thank you.” He tucked it behind his ear and hopped to his feet. “C’mon, I promise we can find an alley once we keep everyone from spending the night in jail.”

“If they do then I’ve got a hotel room to myself.” Marco laughed and hauled Jean to his feet with an arm around his waist.

“Tempting, really.” Marco’s arm slipped away so he could chug the last of his coffee, Jean shocked into place. Marco winked. “Maybe another time.”

Jean had thrown up the Tabasco and tequila from the start of the night, but he could feel its grasslands wildfire when he breathed out and snatched Marco’s wrist. Marco smiled as the door to the bar across the street started expunging its clientele in clumps.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”


End file.
